Chapter 2 – Braxton #2
I close the door behind me, welcoming myself into his humble abode.
It's slightly smaller than my apartment but looks mostly the same, with high ceilings and exposed brick walls with oversized pipes snaking around the ceilings.
His is a one-bedroom apartment he shares with his long-term boyfriend, Mike.
Tamra and I opted for the two-bedroom in case family or friends ever wanted to stay, but visitations never panned out.
Instead, the space was co-opted to be her makeup room and spare closet.
Fucking women.
I grab a cold beer from the refrigerator and sink down on the white leather couch. Excuse me, fake white leather couch. Dixon glances down at me, the shadow of his head falling over his bare chest. "Are you sure you're okay?"
There's a difference between life-long friends and newishfriends. Dixon, or the other boys for that matter, weren't around for my peak womanizer days. He doesn't understand exactly how easy this was for me, twisted knots in my stomach be damned.
I take a sip of beer, relishing the familiar soft burn at the back of my throat. "Break up with your boyfriend. I'm bored."
He furrows a brow and crosses his arms. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"That depends on what you think I'm thinking, but if you're thinking I'm about to flip on the gay switch, then you're thinking incorrectly and should change the way you're thinking.
" I tap the space on the couch beside me, gesturing for him to join me.
He does as expected, dipping down onto the worn couch.
"I'm saying we could hit the town together.
I can pick up chicks and you pick up dicks. "
He slaps his hand on my thigh, resting precariously close to the hem of my too-short shorts. "No."
I take another swig and watch him intently.
"So you want to be boring? Remember, a few of our...
" I raise my free hand to make air quotes...
"friends were fired for being boring. The people want sex, partying, and fighting over dumb shit.
" I drop my head in the groove of his shoulder.
"You're my best friend, Dix. I'd hate to see you get fired for being boring. "
He combs a hand through the curls of my hair. "You're the sweetest himbo that I know."
"Thanks." I pat him on his bare chest. "If you tell anyone our little secret, you won't be my best friend anymore."
Secrets are typically salacious. The very uttering of them from the lips of one person sworn to secrecy could theoretically burn friendships and relationships to the ground. This secret though? I'm afraid it's rather boring.
Fire me now.
It's that I have a sweet side.
Let me just suck those words back into my thoughts.
The urge to gag is not quite so theoretical.
This sweetness is typically reserved for my bros.
Bros before hoes. Totally normal thing. Sure, I've bought many girls roses before.
I've taken them shopping and out for fancy dinners, but almost never because I absolutely wanted to.
It was more like an obligation, that this is how I'm expected to be—on occasion.
I'm a man of contradictions with a thick cock.
Thank God I don't utter every thought that comes into my head.
It's a fucking madhouse inside here. Dose me up, lock me up, just don't fucking throw away the key.
I've self-diagnosed myself with ADHD but have never had the nerve to walk into a head doctor's office to find out for sure.
A part of me is scared he—or she—would diagnose me with something else.
Something my recreational use of Adderall wouldn't quite cure.
And trust me, that's the last thing I need to hear because the only thing stopping me from doing coke recreationally is the Adderall.
Pick your poison, kids.
Dixon snaps his fingers in my face, luring me out of my own head and back to the real world. It takes a moment to reorient myself, and I'm back to right where I was before I zoned out: our little secret that I'm—occasionally—a sweetheart when in the company of my bros.
"Do you need somewhere to crash while Tamra gets her shit out?"
"Huh?" I question, my brain still foggy.
"Shit," I grumble. "She's moving out." And then the panic sets in.
"What the fuck am I going to do?" I jump to my feet, the beer in my hand sloshing around as I begin to pace.
"This is why you don't break up with your girlfriend without a solid plan.
" I point a finger at Dixon. "You have to think of the big picture: the bills and the rent.
Christ on a canopy, what about the rent?
I can't afford this shit on my own." I stop in place, my gaze meeting his.
"I have to apologize to Tamra. Make things right.
Say sorry, honey, buy her some roses, a necklace, a ring, and some chocolates.
I'll even buy her a car. No, wait. That would make my financial situation worse.
But I can tell her I was a fool, that only she can fill my love tank the way she does. "
"Absolutely not," Dixon protests, shaking his head profusely.
He'd rather see me dead in a casket than be with Tamra, and he's never made those feelings subtle.
"We'll find you a new roommate. One who isn't going to cheat on you with some piece of Canadian bacon.
We'll throw up some flyers and place some ads online. "
"That's how people get killed." I narrow my eyes on him.
The thought of letting a stranger into my apartment gives me a strong case of the willies.
I'm a big man. I've thrown a few punches in a bar fight here and there, but I'm also a deep sleeper.
The last thing I need is some Norman Bates type wandering into my bedroom with a knife when I'm sleeping.
"I'd wager a quarter of the tenants in this city live with people they didn't know prior to moving in together," he says, trying to temper my worst-case expectations. "That's the nature of living in the city."
I give his words some serious thought, but then I'm right back to where I started.
"I think it'd be easier to just apologize."
"She cheated on you," he shouts, jumping up from the couch. "Multiple times."
"Multiple?" I raise a brow. "Look," I sigh. "It doesn't have to be permanent. Just long enough until I can find a new roomie."
"Rent was already paid last week, right?" He waits for me to nod before continuing, "That gives us three weeks to find you a new roomie. If we can't find one by then, then I'll begrudgingly ask Mike if we can move upstairs with you. Short term."
"I say this with all the love, respect, and allyship in the world, but I'd rather live in the subway.
" I place a firm hand on his shoulder. "I've been on vacation with your boo and you, and I know he's a screamer.
A wild, fucking he-banshee." I fake a moan as I imitate the sounds I heard coming from their bedroom in the Berkshires. "Oh... ah... yes, fuck me, tiger."
He leers at me, unamused. "Don't say I didn't try to help you."
"Three weeks." I point at him. "If I can't find a roomie by then, I'm taking her back."